Speaker 1: The Thursday trivia night at Elliot wasn't supposed to feel
Speaker 1: this strange. I was sitting in the booth, we claimed
Speaker 1: so many weeks before, legs tapped under me, pine glass
Speaker 1: sweating on to the warp work, surrounded by our friend's terror,
Speaker 1: and Nick across from me, Amy waving an arm as
Speaker 1: she strained to hear a glib answer to a nineties
Speaker 1: siscome question. At our best, this was us, not just
Speaker 1: a group, but Patten, Chris gross insults, competitive sparks, and
Speaker 1: Ben squeezing my knee under the table after getting a
Speaker 1: question right. Our friends called us the Trivipal Apple, partly
Speaker 1: because of Ben's absurd recall for random facts, partly because
Speaker 1: at least until lately, our chemistry was pretty much something
Speaker 1: to envy. But to night Ben wasn't here. A single
Speaker 1: chair was left empty between me and Amy, tilted away
Speaker 1: from the group, jacket draped over it, holding Ben's shape
Speaker 1: only by memory. The bartender, Paul nodded at me when
Speaker 1: I came in. Only one to night he'd asked, surprise
Speaker 1: gusting over his face before he recovered Ben had texted.
Speaker 1: At five twenty seven, urgent sight meeting came up might
Speaker 1: be late. Go ahead without me, Love you. The little
Speaker 1: hard mooji at the landed as a placeholder, not as
Speaker 1: an actual gesture. He'd only started adding that in the
Speaker 1: past month or so, after the first time I made
Speaker 1: a joke about his corporate romance skills. A little after
Speaker 1: trivia started, my phone buzzed again. I checked, half expecting
Speaker 1: Ben announcing he'd be free soon. Instead, it was a
Speaker 1: group photo three women and two men from Ben's work
Speaker 1: standing around the fruit ball table, all holding up bottles
Speaker 1: and grinning like idots. I glanced for Ben, didn't see him.
Speaker 1: Five minutes later, on Instagram's story from Rachael, blinked at
Speaker 1: the top of my screen a quick video of the
Speaker 1: team at a happy hour, cheersing their new project. The
Speaker 1: time stamp said five thirty seven, ten minutes after Ben's
Speaker 1: text to me blaming a sight meeting. I toggled back
Speaker 1: and forth, squaring the timelines in my mind, scouring the
Speaker 1: background for Ben's profile. Tara noticed miss quinting at my
Speaker 1: phone and nudge my rips. You are not allowed to
Speaker 1: google during trivia. It's like raw one. I must have
Speaker 1: looked a little haunted because Niksett is bew down and
Speaker 1: leaned toward me. Whorre's bend anyway, You two never let
Speaker 1: us down on movie themes, I explained, work meeting all
Speaker 1: very urgent. Probably wouldn't make it not a lie exactly,
Speaker 1: just a bit of cheerful routine. Amy groan. But he's
Speaker 1: our ringer. We're about to get slaid by the dudes
Speaker 1: from Table six. Paro grinned. He's probably surrendering on purpose,
Speaker 1: just to make it fair, you know, for the good
Speaker 1: of the league. They bountered, and I made myself laugh,
Speaker 1: slipping in an answer about vintage TV shows to prove
Speaker 1: I was fully among them. Still, I felt the empty echo.
Speaker 1: Ben never a mystery, not even on night when he
Speaker 1: swore he was exhausted, or after he took that Red
Speaker 1: Eye from Chicago last February. He'd shown up straight from
Speaker 1: the airport's highest hue, grinning white as he reached from
Speaker 1: my hand under the glow of the Neon crosign to night.
Speaker 1: There was no hand, no Ben. My friends kept tossing
Speaker 1: questions and pretending Ben's absence was just bad luck. But
Speaker 1: the chill I felt ran deeper the last time he'd
Speaker 1: canceled last minute, I couldn't even remember. I wondered if
Speaker 1: it was only me, if I was just sensitive, maybe foolish.
Speaker 1: Was I becoming that fiance, the kind who got nervous
Speaker 1: from a single skip night out, who checked timestamps like
Speaker 1: a detective. Ben laugh if I admitted it, He always said,
Speaker 1: had spent too many years worrying about things that never
Speaker 1: turned out to be true. Still, as I tried to
Speaker 1: settle into the trivia's rhythm, the drinks, the familiar faces,
Speaker 1: I kept scrolling back to Ben's message, reading the words
Speaker 1: over and over, seeking any sign of a smile, some
Speaker 1: reassurance between the syllables. I pictured him once at the
Speaker 1: start of us, leaping at the chance for any shared adventure,
Speaker 1: tracked a beam level enthusiasm. He'd said, You're the only
Speaker 1: thing that never feels like an obligation. I used to
Speaker 1: believe that. I used to know it in my bones.
Speaker 1: Now the truth was just the shape of his missing laughter,
Speaker 1: tracing itself in the empty seat beside me. What surprised
Speaker 1: me most was how quickly it started to feel heavier
Speaker 1: than it should. When I got home, the house was hushed,
Speaker 1: too dark. I'll fix it up. His porch light flickered
Speaker 1: as I fumbled for my keys, reminding me for the
Speaker 1: empty time that the electric box needed to check something
Speaker 1: Ben always fixed, something I never bothered with. Inside the kitchens,
Speaker 1: half prime wall hovered in its unfinished state, stock brush strokes,
Speaker 1: pausing where we'd abandoned our most recent DIY project. That
Speaker 1: project was supposed to be last month's weekend adventure, but
Speaker 1: Ben had baked off, saying he had to for a
Speaker 1: big presentation. I'd salt most of that day, half painting
Speaker 1: in silence, half scrolling through old texts from him, little hearts,
Speaker 1: dump puns, offering up take out or a late movie night.
Speaker 1: That night, my birthday, he came home with cupcakes and flowers,
Speaker 1: but spent most of dinner sending scattered smiles into the
Speaker 1: empty space past my shoulder. It was easy back then
Speaker 1: to rationalize work pressure, growing responsibilities. He'd always been ambitious,
Speaker 1: and this was the promotion he chased, smiling through sleepless weeks,
Speaker 1: promising it would all be for us. I'd loved him
Speaker 1: for that drive, for the way he made me feel
Speaker 1: like I could rise to any challenge. When we met,
Speaker 1: I was quiet, shell bound from a break up that
Speaker 1: left me darting my own worth. Ben coaxed me out
Speaker 1: midnight drives into the mountains, pancakes at odd hours, inside
Speaker 1: jokes that tangled me so tightly into his world that
Speaker 1: caution seemed both silly and impossible. I'd never been a
Speaker 1: life of any party that was Ben's turf, but he'd
Speaker 1: loved how I noticed things, others, misty little kindnesses a
Speaker 1: jerke delivered with dry timing, the way I'd was bu
Speaker 1: my best lines just for him. We bought our Denver
Speaker 1: bungalow because we believed in projects a mix of old
Speaker 1: and new, possibility and great. Then was the one who
Speaker 1: insisted on hiking the front range as adst of teamwork,
Speaker 1: laugh when I lagged on the up hill, always offered
Speaker 1: a hand at the right moment. Our shared calendar bloom
Speaker 1: with half serious plans, and marathon at least once Sunday
Speaker 1: Room Sunday Peru. It felt like life in motion. My
Speaker 1: own work. Project management, with all its tangled emails, shifting
Speaker 1: dead lines, endlessier meetings, gave me stability, a sense of
Speaker 1: capability I had fought to earn. Ben always called me
Speaker 1: his secret weapon, said he needed my conn to stead
Speaker 1: eat his wild when I flailed early in my career,
Speaker 1: Ben sat next to me with wine and whiteboards and
Speaker 1: unshakable faith. Our circle of friends, old college pals, coworkers,
Speaker 1: a cousin or two, mixed in ways that made every
Speaker 1: get together in no event. Ben knew how to steer
Speaker 1: a conversation. I was the one quietly stabilizing things, nudging
Speaker 1: a drink into someone's hand, listening more than talking, but
Speaker 1: never lef out. If Ben was the spark, I was
Speaker 1: the fuel. Small rituals grew round us. Friday trivia, Saturday
Speaker 1: mornings in the markets, marathon stew or curry nights were
Speaker 1: bended this seasoning and I did the prep. We folded
Speaker 1: laundry together, turned shores into laughing matches. Alliday's men negotiating
Speaker 1: whose family to visit, but everyone agreed. Ben was a catch.
Speaker 1: My parents called him their second son, and his mother
Speaker 1: dialed in from Wisconsin, made ashore for proving her Denver girl.
Speaker 1: Our home was messy, but lived in relationships laid through
Speaker 1: the walls, photos tacked up from camping trips, bence, childhood
Speaker 1: baseball on a shelf. My grandmother's pipulated a new so
Speaker 1: often the ages had chipped twice in the last few months.
Speaker 1: Something shifted. The kitchen repaint, stop pathway, a hiking, BRIT's
Speaker 1: gather dust Ben's after work text grew clip then more sporadic.
Speaker 1: His promotion to lead architect at a mid sized firms
Speaker 1: should have meant joy or at least celebratory exhaustion. Instead,
Speaker 1: he became harder to reach, even when he was sitting
Speaker 1: next to me. When he did finally show up for
Speaker 1: Friday Trivia of Sunday Pancakes, it was as if his
Speaker 1: mind was pacing the outline of a building. Only he
Speaker 1: could see. The rest. I told myself was the natural
Speaker 1: evolution of two busy people. It wasn't a lacke. It
Speaker 1: was everything we'd built, waiting for a new start after
Speaker 1: this demanding project season. If I caught my own insecurity's surfacing,
Speaker 1: I tried to ask for more time together, a hike,
Speaker 1: a movie, just a day where we left our phones
Speaker 1: in the car. Then would listen say I was right,
Speaker 1: kiss my temple. But then a last minute message would
Speaker 1: send him back out the door. For just a little while.
Speaker 1: I tried to believe it was all fine. I did
Speaker 1: believe it right up until trivia night and a seat
Speaker 1: that fell colder than it ever had before. Over the
Speaker 1: next week I went through the rituals of our life, groceries,
Speaker 1: filling the gas tank, picking up bends, dry cleaning, testing
Speaker 1: the shape of our routines for cracks. The night after trivia,
Speaker 1: I was prepping dinner when Ben texted to say he'd
Speaker 1: be laid again, blaming a client whose scope kept shifting.
Speaker 1: He walked in just past eight as bleary, his black
Speaker 1: work jacket draped on one arm and in his other
Speaker 1: hand a white cardboard box with grease stains. He offered
Speaker 1: a tire smile, holding up chick fill like an apology. Sorry, babe,
Speaker 1: long story, meant to pick this up sooner, but never
Speaker 1: mind you okay? With sandwiches for dinner, we ate in
Speaker 1: the living room. The TV tuned some old comedy, then
Speaker 1: laughed at the screen, over compensating with two bright jokes,
Speaker 1: rarely glancing my way. I waited for him to ask
Speaker 1: about my day, the stressful new higher the night may
Speaker 1: vender chat, but all I got was need any ketchup.
Speaker 1: After meal, he disappeared into his little office, muttering about
Speaker 1: client emales, and didn't come out until well after midnight.
Speaker 1: I lay awake, g listening to keystrokes, wondering when it
Speaker 1: became normal to faul asleep alone. Two nights later, Ben
Speaker 1: walked in even later, this time without dinner. Sorry, he said, grimacing.
Speaker 1: I just had to get out of their client wouldn't
Speaker 1: stop leaping on minor details. I needed some air. He
Speaker 1: waved at dinner receipt at me some dark colethel sandwich
Speaker 1: shop three blocks from his office. His shirt was wrinkled
Speaker 1: and his stubble was more weak in camping than on Thursday.
Speaker 1: Late night, he let out a spike, a little sigh,
Speaker 1: and vanished into the shower without even touching the reed.
Speaker 1: It pasta d left warman. He emerged, hair tawl damp.
Speaker 1: I made three false jokes about teen politics before retreating silence.
Speaker 1: I waited until he came to bed, then traced a
Speaker 1: careful finger along his shoulder blade, searching for him. He
Speaker 1: took my hand and squeezed it without saying a word.
Speaker 1: I told myself it was comfort, but it felt more
Speaker 1: like a punctuation mark, ending the conversation. Saturday morning, dawn,
Speaker 1: bright and blue, one of those rare Denver days where
Speaker 1: the city looks brand new. We'd planned weeks ago to
Speaker 1: drive up for an easy hack outside Boulder, pick up
Speaker 1: supplies for the half finished kitchen, maybe grub breakfast at
Speaker 1: Alpine Diner on the way. Then leaned over coffee, scrolling
Speaker 1: through his phone, eye scanning not my face but the
Speaker 1: blurred horizon beyond the French doors. Babe listened. Total mess,
Speaker 1: he said, barely looking up. A last minute sight walk
Speaker 1: through just popped up. The client got complaints about the flooring.
Speaker 1: We specked, I probably need a few hours, Max. Can
Speaker 1: we rain check the hike? He tapped his moug tension
Speaker 1: riding high in his voice in a way that said
Speaker 1: it don't press. I nodded, set out to clean the house,
Speaker 1: blaring soft indie music to draw out my annoyance. Madeway.
Speaker 1: Through dusting, the cook calls at Ben's territory, usually in chaos,
Speaker 1: I spotted a navy blue jacket with a monogram patch.
Speaker 1: Something neat and expensive. I frowned, turning it over in
Speaker 1: my hands. It was not Ben's style, a little too fitted.
Speaker 1: The lining pattern and pale green silk a kind of
Speaker 1: detail eat ridicule as need the sea posh, the initials
Speaker 1: stitched into the inside collar. Ray W meant nothing to me.
Speaker 1: I hesitated, set it aside, and shrugged it off as
Speaker 1: a donation left from my last closet purge. Maybe towers
Speaker 1: may be nicks. I didn't bring it up to Ben
Speaker 1: when he got home, distracted as he was by good
Speaker 1: mood and a quick grunt to grab groceries for dinner.
Speaker 1: But something tiny lodged there I couldn't shake out. The
Speaker 1: next week, I kept a low level scan for more regularities.
Speaker 1: At first it was nothing. Ben back late, but explaining
Speaker 1: it with work, always with plausible details. Then his mood
Speaker 1: started shifting, snapping over minor things, did you move my
Speaker 1: charger again? Making all jokes that flopped and left silences
Speaker 1: behind them. He'd always vented about the absurdity of work,
Speaker 1: laughing at the lisbolts in his designed team, telling me
Speaker 1: who brought doughnuts or showed up in shorts? Now? When
Speaker 1: I tried to draw him out, he shrouded, It's just
Speaker 1: complicated stuff, no real stories. On Wednesday, just before dinner,
Speaker 1: he closed his laptop with the clatter I'm going to
Speaker 1: bed early. Can you finish up the bills tomorrow? He
Speaker 1: didn't wait for an answer. That night, as I sifted
Speaker 1: through files on our she had lap up to print payments.
Speaker 1: I noticed a bank account blinking with more late night
Speaker 1: charges than usual. Several transactions from the barrel, not a
Speaker 1: wine barred downtown, not Ben style at all stood out
Speaker 1: eleven thirty five p m. Last Friday, twelve wellway m
Speaker 1: the Saturday before, and again on a Wednesday, when he
Speaker 1: told me he was too tired to meet up even
Speaker 1: for tika. Each charge, however, just under forty bucks. I
Speaker 1: checked my phone thumb through Arthur read that Friday, Ben's
Speaker 1: message had read Bury declinent meltdown, might just crash here
Speaker 1: to night if it runs late. It wasn't even a question.
Speaker 1: There'd been no smile in it, and he hadn't called
Speaker 1: until nearly one a m. I told myself it was innocent.
Speaker 1: Team drinks quick bites between meetings, but Ben always rolled
Speaker 1: his eyes at the barrel, knots pretentious, stemmered publicly. Anyway.
Speaker 1: I waited for a night when he claimed to walk late,
Speaker 1: and texted him at ten, then ten thirty, no reply.
Speaker 1: At eleven. I called. He answered on the second ring,
Speaker 1: fuss's laughter, clinking glasses spilled across the line, then sounding
Speaker 1: rushed and tight said, hey, babe, am finishing up? Can
Speaker 1: I call you back as chaos? Sorry? He armed up
Speaker 1: before I could even ask what was up? These things
Speaker 1: won't prove, just the bright glimpse of a patent forming
Speaker 1: in my mind. I began a mental tally, taking off
Speaker 1: add at his late receipts, mood swings, stories spun out
Speaker 1: or contradicted. Maybe he was just burned out, I told myself.
Speaker 1: Maybe I was reading too much into every missmile. But
Speaker 1: DUBT was an engine. Once it started, it kept running.
Speaker 1: Work kept me afloat for a while. At least there
Speaker 1: the problems were mapped out, solvable, leading somewhere in the evenings.
Speaker 1: The house felt less like ours, more like a carefully
Speaker 1: staged set. I asked about finishing the kitchen wall. Ben
Speaker 1: pushed it off. I suggested hiking a son. Babes were
Speaker 1: once this project clears. Tarro was the first coal bullshit.
Speaker 1: We were out for coffee, Tucked in a window seat
Speaker 1: as arrange storm threatened outside. She watched me poke holes
Speaker 1: in a blueberry skown, then finally put her hand over mine.
Speaker 1: I haven't seen him in what three weeks? Even at
Speaker 1: trivia or solo. Half the time you okay. I started
Speaker 1: to hedge, making noises about the new job stress, how
Speaker 1: Ben just needed time, and Taro shot me a knowing look. Yes,
Speaker 1: his life get busy, Yeah, so does yours. But it's weird.
Speaker 1: I texted him last week about the hiking gear reckon.
Speaker 1: Never heard back. He's fading out on all of us.
Speaker 1: I told her not to overthink it, But as I
Speaker 1: said it, I realized I was asking her not to
Speaker 1: do the very thing I spent nights doing myself. Following Saturday,
Speaker 1: Ben's firm held a backyard barbecue, open drinks burghers. Though
Speaker 1: official and official way for coworchister relax, I tried to
Speaker 1: see it as a chance to blend and to reset
Speaker 1: all my suspicions. Ben greeted me with a distracted peck
Speaker 1: on the cheek, introduced me to a flurry of people
Speaker 1: whose names I already knew for months of work stories.
Speaker 1: He laughed sure, but kept checking his phone, docking away
Speaker 1: from groove photos, flinching when someone tried to drag him
Speaker 1: into a pulside selfie. He drifted over to the grill
Speaker 1: with his boss, then quickly spun away. Each time I approached.
Speaker 1: I wandered off idly chatting with Rachel, one of his
Speaker 1: coworkers I'd heard about but never met. It's so nice
Speaker 1: to finally meet you, Jess, Rachel said, grinninge one in hand.
Speaker 1: Ben never stops talking about you. Just wish we saw
Speaker 1: more of him lately, I laughed politely. Then, curiosity nudging me,
Speaker 1: I asked, he says he's with the team till all
Speaker 1: hours sun nights. I imagine that gets old. Rachel made
Speaker 1: a face. He's barely around. Actually, most of us don't
Speaker 1: hang outside nine to five. I think he's got a
Speaker 1: new project keeping him late. But who knows. Copperate has
Speaker 1: everyone paying at way times. Now you know the deal.
Speaker 1: A small buzz of confusion zip threw me. I realized,
Speaker 1: in the entire time Ben had been promoted, I'd never
Speaker 1: met his supposed late night client. Teen. He named names,
Speaker 1: told stories, but they never featured in any plans. On
Speaker 1: the ride home, I waited for him to bring it up,
Speaker 1: but Ben rode in silence, thumb tapping furiously at messages.
Speaker 1: When I asked about Rachel, half teasing, half fishing, he
Speaker 1: turned defensive. Out of nowhere, barely more than a label
Speaker 1: on an email, he said, vos flat, don't even really
Speaker 1: talk to her besides logistics. Sunday, while Ben was in
Speaker 1: the shower, I paid bills. The shared account showed two
Speaker 1: more charges at the barrel knot this time. I snapped
Speaker 1: a picture of the transactions, forwarding then to myself. I hesitated,
Speaker 1: then started at note Ben's late night charges and time stump,
Speaker 1: the ones I couldn't square with his stories. I was
Speaker 1: officially in the territory. I always swore i'd never visit.
Speaker 1: He left for a business retreat. Whence they scheduled for
Speaker 1: three days up at some private rental in s Park,
Speaker 1: supposedly the whole project team going off grade. I wished
Speaker 1: him good luck and try to sound excited, but I
Speaker 1: couldn't kill a worry humming under my skin. That evening,
Speaker 1: while sorting through my email back clock, a group text
Speaker 1: popped up from Karr, an old college friend, congressed Ben
Speaker 1: didn't know he was winning awards these days. She detached
Speaker 1: a grainy photo Ben in his goatablue, buttoned down mug
Speaker 1: in hand, standing with three guys in front of Parlor,
Speaker 1: a well known brewery in town. The time stamp last night,
Speaker 1: the very night he was supposed to be off grid.
Speaker 1: My stomach twisted, not with certainty, but with a slow,
Speaker 1: muddy confusion. You can't talk yourself out of I tried
Speaker 1: calling his phone went straight to voicemail. I spent twenty
Speaker 1: minutes staring at the brewery's Instagram, tracking photos from that night,
Speaker 1: looking for any sign of Ben. I told myself there
Speaker 1: was some mix up. Maybe they did ascend off of
Speaker 1: the brewery before heading up to the retreat. Maybe the
Speaker 1: photo was old, maybe Corer had the date wrong. On Sunday,
Speaker 1: torre called again, her voice conspiratorial. Have you talked to
Speaker 1: Ben today? I was driving near Kofax and swear to God,
Speaker 1: his car was parked outside a row of town has
Speaker 1: a super early like berefor nine, as he were king
Speaker 1: ono Renau out there. I tried to play it off,
Speaker 1: said maybe he was picking up blueprints for a client.
Speaker 1: When Ben came home, I asked in passing about the
Speaker 1: weird early meeting, and he invented some story about measurements
Speaker 1: being off. Had to reconcile elevations with a client couple.
Speaker 1: But he was cheerful all afternoon, whistling as he showered,
Speaker 1: which seemed at odds with the stressed out mess he'd
Speaker 1: claimed to be that night, after he passed out in
Speaker 1: front of the TV, I checked the coat closet again.
Speaker 1: The navy jacket was still there. I flipped the tag
Speaker 1: a W in perfect looping cursive. Still nothing came to mind.
Speaker 1: I tried believing his explanations. I did, but my mind
Speaker 1: kept tracking time lines, overlaying with seats and stories, tracing
Speaker 1: ruts from our house to wine Barston, familiar townhouses. When
Speaker 1: I told Tara about my worries, she hesitated, then said softly, Jess,
Speaker 1: I think you need to start writing this down, just
Speaker 1: so you don't feel crazy. Later. She was the only
Speaker 1: person I trusted enough to say it to. I started
Speaker 1: document in Ben's whereabouts, texting myself every time something didn't
Speaker 1: add up, complete with date and time. If I drove
Speaker 1: past the row of town houses on a Sunday saw
Speaker 1: a familiar superw out front, I made a note. It
Speaker 1: felt like self defense as much as accusation. I told
Speaker 1: myself over and over that it would all resolve, that
Speaker 1: Ben would have some brilliant mondane explanation. We were solid,
Speaker 1: stronger than work, stressed, stranger than suspicion. But the pattern
Speaker 1: only spread. He became unpredictable. One night stuck running plans
Speaker 1: till eleven, another coming home raid, eating relief arms around me,
Speaker 1: promising a real weekend that never quite seemed to materialize.
Speaker 1: A week later, I decided I couldn't keep tip to Wayne.
Speaker 1: I rehearse what I'd say. I saw your car. I
Speaker 1: know about the charges, famoried. Please tell me what's going on.
Speaker 1: But Ben beat me to it. That Thursday overtakeout at
Speaker 1: the dining table, he cleared his rope. Hey, I should
Speaker 1: tell you I've got a shot a huge project. One
Speaker 1: of my clients, this couple just closed on a town house.
Speaker 1: I'll be out there a lot for the next month
Speaker 1: of so renderings, walked throughs, sometimes pretty late. I know
Speaker 1: it's a lot. If you want, you should meet them.
Speaker 1: They are super sweet, really aughty. We're doing an open
Speaker 1: house next week. He sounded eager, believable. He even looped
Speaker 1: me in on strategy cac and jokes about their wallpaper tastes,
Speaker 1: tracing floor plans with his finger in the air. I
Speaker 1: let myself believe again, suddenly convinced I misjudged. The town
Speaker 1: house was real, the mystery clients were real. Maybe he
Speaker 1: was just doing his job. After all, we attended the
Speaker 1: open house together. The couple chat and Lear were polite, enthusiastic,
Speaker 1: making a point of complimenting Ben's vision. Ben Bean braked
Speaker 1: about my project management skills, even roasted me a little.
Speaker 1: She is the system's genius, beware. I felt good there,
Speaker 1: chhaded from my worries by the normalcy of it all.
Speaker 1: For the first time in weeks, I laughed and found
Speaker 1: myself holding Ben's hand again. That night at home, Ben
Speaker 1: was brighter at lingering in the kitchen, while after dinner
Speaker 1: he pressed up behind me, arms around my waist as
Speaker 1: I washed up, humming in my ear. This, I thought,
Speaker 1: is what we are. This is what I want back.
Speaker 1: I tossed a jacket over a chair, the navy blue
Speaker 1: one again, and automatically checked for the initials e W
Speaker 1: jumped out at me, more ominous this time. I dangled
Speaker 1: it on my finger, waiting for some flash of recognition,
Speaker 1: but the only in names I knew from Ben's life
Speaker 1: for his old project leads, none of whom used that
Speaker 1: kind of monogrammine. I set the jackut aside, meaning to
Speaker 1: ask Ben, but forgetting lulled by his sudden attention by
Speaker 1: the way things felt rene it. Two days later, waiting
Speaker 1: for Ben to come home, I found myself scanning his
Speaker 1: ticks from the laptop we sometimes shared. Ben was always careful,
Speaker 1: never locking his phone, but diligent about clearing notifications. Still
Speaker 1: in the embus, her name floated up Ariel w real Estate.
Speaker 1: Judging by the tagline beneath her email signature, nothing weird
Speaker 1: so far. A string of messages, though, caught my eye.
Speaker 1: They started formal, then shifted into casual, then downright playful,
Speaker 1: jokes about us bought at the not the wine bar,
Speaker 1: References to early mornings and late nights, memories of things
Speaker 1: Ben had never told me. The playful tone turned into
Speaker 1: me lines like glad you survived last night. These things
Speaker 1: are more fun with you anyway. Ben's replies rocoy full
Speaker 1: of inside jokes. I didn't understand lines like you keep
Speaker 1: making me late for work, but I forgive you. Something
Speaker 1: cold spread through my limbs. I scanned further attached photos,
Speaker 1: sometimes blurry, always teasing, may be innocent, maybe not. I
Speaker 1: searched Ben's emails for Ariel. The name popped up on
Speaker 1: coal listings for the townhouse. Their professional eyes entwined, but
Speaker 1: it was the time stamps that gnarled at me. Every
Speaker 1: major date he missed. A commitment at home seemed to
Speaker 1: correlate with the scheduling message from Ariel peppered with late
Speaker 1: night thanks and after hour's goodness. I tacked up my
Speaker 1: phone to text Haar or hand shaking. Should I ask
Speaker 1: about ariy ell Oudwright or about who on the jacket? Instead?
Speaker 1: I called Rachel, pretending I needed details about the open house.
Speaker 1: She hesitated, voice dropping half an octave. Oh, ri Yell.
Speaker 1: She and Binge's clicked. You know they get each other's humor.
Speaker 1: I guess he's been working late with her a lot,
Speaker 1: like a lot o law, not just this project, since
Speaker 1: about winter. I think you probably know more than I do.
Speaker 1: Rachel trailed off into silence, so uncomfortable I had to
Speaker 1: change the subject, I hung up, dizzy. Every weekend Ben
Speaker 1: left for a client emergency, clawing at my memory. That evening,
Speaker 1: Ben came home late once again. He dumped his keys
Speaker 1: in the pottery bowl by the door, passing through the
Speaker 1: kitchen with a breeze. Excuse client stuffer end long, sorry,
Speaker 1: he want me to grod dinner. As he headed up stairs,
Speaker 1: his phone vibrated on the counter. I caught a quick
Speaker 1: flash Ariel's name, the message reading missing you already tomorrow.
Speaker 1: My hand hover, but I didn't open it. I waited
Speaker 1: until he came back down, cheeked, still ruddy from the shower,
Speaker 1: unaware of the chaos inside me. I wanted to ask
Speaker 1: right then, to demand an answer, throw receipts and bank
Speaker 1: statements and feelings at the wall. But Ben stood there
Speaker 1: in the dining room, looking tired, a flicker of worry
Speaker 1: behind his practice smile, and I lost my nerve. Instead,
Speaker 1: I said, too calmly, can we talk? He sighed, set
Speaker 1: aside his back, eyes already darting like he was looking
Speaker 1: for an escape rout. I asked about the tan house again,
Speaker 1: about Riel. He returned my questions with questions. Why was
Speaker 1: I logged into his e mail? Did I not trust
Speaker 1: him at all? Was I really snooping through his things?
Speaker 1: Now he was hurt. He accused me of doubting him,
Speaker 1: of growing paranoid FEI spira old him, trying to redirect me,
Speaker 1: Refusing to let go. I told him about the time lines,
Speaker 1: the late night charges, the car parked outside the town house,
Speaker 1: the texts. He said, I was making something out of nothing,
Speaker 1: that Ariel was just a work friend that clients became
Speaker 1: friends all the time, especially over drinks. He bristled at
Speaker 1: the idea of being spied on, his anger simmering out
Speaker 1: as wounded pride. I stared at him, resolved, settling hard
Speaker 1: inside me. I didn't believe him, at least not entirely,
Speaker 1: not anymore. He saw it plain as daylight and retreated
Speaker 1: up to his office, as if the confrontation could be
Speaker 1: filed away and left behind up stairs. I opened my journal.
Speaker 1: If Ben wanted to play at normal, I'd let him.
Speaker 1: But I wrote down every detail, laid out each sign
Speaker 1: in blacking, rehearsing the steps I would need for the
Speaker 1: conversation that had to come. Because I wasn't crazy and
Speaker 1: I wasn't finished, not any more, I told myself, I
Speaker 1: go to bed, get a night's sleep, let it settle.
Speaker 1: But the idea of sleep was laughable. I lay on
Speaker 1: our side of the mattress, stilled under the weight of
Speaker 1: covers that still held Ben's sen with thoughts sticking forward
Speaker 1: like metronome beats. The pulsing headlights of passing cars ricocheted
Speaker 1: off the bedroom walls, slicing out the darkness. Each one
Speaker 1: chasing out a new possibility. What kept me awake wasn't
Speaker 1: just Bend's lying of the late hours, or even Ariel's
Speaker 1: name blinking neon in my head. It was the precise
Speaker 1: way my own mind was splintering, one part wanting desperately
Speaker 1: to accept the simplest explanation, the other stock in his
Speaker 1: pavit from the corners of half remembered conversations. I hated
Speaker 1: how methodical had started to feel my trustmorphing into a
Speaker 1: habit of vigilance. At around two in the morning, I
Speaker 1: tatted downstairs and my socks and opened the coat closet again.
Speaker 1: The navy jacket hung there, swinging gently on its wood hanger.
Speaker 1: I pressed my palm smooth against the monogram a w
Speaker 1: The fabric carried a faint floral scent, definitely not colone,
Speaker 1: not my detergent either, If a blonde to a client,
Speaker 1: as Ben might claim, why would it be here? Setting
Speaker 1: a man our, battered dampuffers and his old college hoodie,
Speaker 1: I thumbed through the pockets. The left yielded nothing. In
Speaker 1: the right, I folded up receipt barrel, not two glasses
Speaker 1: of syr cheese board. A Thursday three weeks ago. The
Speaker 1: tip lines gribbled ah. My hands started to shake. I
Speaker 1: tucked the receipt hastily back inside and shut the closet,
Speaker 1: as if silence might restore some banished order. My phone
Speaker 1: vibrated at two fifteen, an out of office alot for
Speaker 1: Ben's work calendar, a scheduled sight visit blocking out the
Speaker 1: next evening. I flipped through our shared calendar. For the
Speaker 1: past three months, I'd always given him benefit of the doubt.
Speaker 1: The architect's world wasn't a nine to five, but now
Speaker 1: laid out like this, the passengers drew themselves up like
Speaker 1: the outline of some structure. I dreaded seeing finished. I dawn.
Speaker 1: I'd only managed to drift in and out of consciousness.
Speaker 1: Every noise in the house now suspect. I finally got up, showered,
Speaker 1: scubbed myself raw and dressed. Coffee tasted metallic, unwelcome in
Speaker 1: my mouth. I reviewed work emails, marked a few urgent,
Speaker 1: but my eyes kept flicking to the clock to Woobend's
Speaker 1: office door. Sat cracked up and upstairs. He hadn't come
Speaker 1: down yet. I listened to the faint creaks of him
Speaker 1: pacing above me, pausing too long beside the window that
Speaker 1: faced east. For years, this had been a comfort. Ben
Speaker 1: shaped against the glass, framed by early san focus, all
Speaker 1: wound up in his sketch book. I tried to breathe slowly.
Speaker 1: This was just a bad stretch. It would pass. By
Speaker 1: lunch time, he still hadn't emerged. I finally climbed the
Speaker 1: stairs and wrapped my knuckles on his door. You hungry,
Speaker 1: I tried for normalcy, the tone of many days past.
Speaker 1: Ben looked up from his computer, eyes red rimmed, his
Speaker 1: jaw worked a moment. I'll eat later, bape meeting with
Speaker 1: poster net one. His energy was jittery, sentences clipped, but
Speaker 1: he held my gaze just long enough for me to
Speaker 1: question again everything I'd been rehearsing. I went back down,
Speaker 1: started folding laundry we'd left in the basket. Sucks matched,
Speaker 1: church rull tight, the rhyver steadied me. I found at
Speaker 1: the bottom of the pile one of Ben's sweatow's charcoal,
Speaker 1: lightly worn. I pressed it to my face. It smiled
Speaker 1: only of home, a reminder that even small things could
Speaker 1: survive the weight of doubt. That evening, I tried to
Speaker 1: recover a Friday tradition home mid Korean tacos, always a hit,
Speaker 1: always messy, always punctuated with Ben lickingotchi janng from his
Speaker 1: fingers and asking if we could please for once try
Speaker 1: a normal recipe. I set two place mats, pour two
Speaker 1: glasses of the nine dollars reacing he always said was underrated,
Speaker 1: and waited with the patio door cracked to lead in
Speaker 1: the breeze. He didn't come down until almostate hay awhile
Speaker 1: from fingers running through too many times. He sat it
Speaker 1: three tacos without a word and pushed his plate away
Speaker 1: long day. I offered tentative. He nodded, Masat, I've reached
Speaker 1: for the only thread I could find. Did you hear
Speaker 1: from sud about the permits for that Jefferson job? He blinkedyes,
Speaker 1: clearing for a second. Oh yes, since Pisto City's backed
Speaker 1: up again, we'll have to finesse it. He ran his
Speaker 1: finger along the rim of his glass. Sorry if I'm off,
Speaker 1: the whole firm's just intense lately. After we finish, he
Speaker 1: disappeared for a shower. When I went upstairs to get
Speaker 1: my phone charger, I heard low murmurs, his voice barely
Speaker 1: restrained on the phone behind a closed bathroom door. There
Speaker 1: was a pause, a short burst of laughter, then quiet again.
Speaker 1: I pretended to fumble in the drawer, but the conversation ended.
Speaker 1: By the time I finished. That night, I climbed into
Speaker 1: bed alone. I flicked through old photos on my phone,
Speaker 1: the two of us at Lake asybel bend in a
Speaker 1: puffer vest, hugging me from behind a smile, wide and
Speaker 1: open Halloween as Bob Ross in a happy little tree.
Speaker 1: Our heads press close or home pre reno, but prestrain.
Speaker 1: The yearning felt humiliating, but it was real. I wanted
Speaker 1: the ordinary joy back these Saturday morning, I woke up
Speaker 1: to fine Ben already gone, the car absent from the driveway,
Speaker 1: no note, noex nothing. I busied myself with Erin's groceries,
Speaker 1: cat freed or run to Target for more rollers for
Speaker 1: the kitchen paint had stopped, believing we'd ever finish. At
Speaker 1: the check out, my phone dinged. I half hoped it'd
Speaker 1: be Ben apologizing for rushing out. Saturday breakfast were always
Speaker 1: on spoken date. Instead, I message from Amy, missing you
Speaker 1: at the market. You and Ben's still in bed, all
Speaker 1: weakened or what? I type A quick replied, he's at work.
Speaker 1: I'm running around next week in for sure. At home,
Speaker 1: I unloaded everything alone. The emptiness was loud. I put
Speaker 1: away the groceries and thinking, rearranged the liquor shelf. My
Speaker 1: fingers have it over a bottle of French, like the
Speaker 1: one Bend once claimed they only imported to make people
Speaker 1: feel European. Inside it was half empty and I had
Speaker 1: no memory of opening it. I checked Ben's schedule out
Speaker 1: for a site measurement, blocked till afternoon. Still something felt inconsistent.
Speaker 1: I tried to push it away, sat at the dining
Speaker 1: table with my laptop open, watching the curser blink. It
Speaker 1: was barely neon when my phone buzzed Tooro again. Jess,
Speaker 1: I hope this isn't word. I was at Wild Roots
Speaker 1: this morning, and I'm almost sure I saw Ben's car again,
Speaker 1: same spot as last week, outside that row of Brown's
Speaker 1: last gray townhouses. If you're out swinging by, maybe it's nothing,
Speaker 1: just scen DoD. The urge to go check was immediate,
Speaker 1: clouded by shame. Still, I gabb my keys, told myself
Speaker 1: I needed gas anyway. I drove the ten odd blocks
Speaker 1: with my hot thumping wildly hating how cheap and scared
Speaker 1: it made me feel sure enough, parked half concealed. Beneath
Speaker 1: the maple was the cuber replates and a faded bumper
Speaker 1: sticker matching bends. I parked half a block away, pretending
Speaker 1: to check directions on my phone, willing myself not to
Speaker 1: do anything impulsive. Just standing there, feeling exposed and absurd,
Speaker 1: I snapped a photo or time stamp, proved for no
Speaker 1: one but myself. There was a movement around the town house,
Speaker 1: curtain's drawn, nothing out of the ordinary. After five minutes,
Speaker 1: I got back in my car and drove home, sick
Speaker 1: with my own invasiveness. Ben returned around four, whistling the
Speaker 1: opening to some indie radio hit cheeks wind burned hair
Speaker 1: must He dropped his back, shouted, hey, babe, gin a shower,
Speaker 1: and disappeared upstairs before I could even respond. I looked
Speaker 1: at the front closet, the navy jacket still there. Mute
Speaker 1: as ever, I found myself restlessly tidying under this offer.
Speaker 1: I discovered a nearing, a small gold hoop, paler than
Speaker 1: anything I owned. Ben passed through the living room as
Speaker 1: I held it up. This yours, I asked, careful. I
Speaker 1: was locked on his face. He barely glanced over, probably
Speaker 1: tars our next girlfriend didn't ye do why? Night last month,
Speaker 1: he tossed a pillow onto the couch, stretching like him
Speaker 1: in to nap. God, I'm wiped. I turned the earring
Speaker 1: in my hand, then set it aside. It didn't match
Speaker 1: anything I recalled from recent nights. In still, I made
Speaker 1: myself believe it. I put it in the little bowl.
Speaker 1: We're lost. Things go silent as hope drying up the night.
Speaker 1: I made a list of names, dates, small things, navy
Speaker 1: jacket and familiar wine, gold earring, miss trivia, absent photos,
Speaker 1: Bill Dinners. At the bottom, I wrote what do I
Speaker 1: need to know and what am I inventing? The list
Speaker 1: made things sharper, but not easier. Day's blood into one another,
Speaker 1: each marked by some small change. Ben started closing his
Speaker 1: lap up A moment I walked into a room. If
Speaker 1: I offered to help with dinner, he insisted, I got
Speaker 1: it a friend's call. He'd voused into the other room
Speaker 1: to take the coal. Never before, not like this at work,
Speaker 1: I caught myself drifting off dead lane's approaching and receding unnoticed.
Speaker 1: Amy sought me after a strategy call you, okay, you've
Speaker 1: had that bowl of mashed potatoes look for a week.
Speaker 1: I almost confess, but the words felt brittle in my mouth.
Speaker 1: The following Thursday, I couldn't shake a feeling of urgency.
Speaker 1: I lowered back into our shared bank account. This time
Speaker 1: I scroll through not only Ben's charges at the barrel
Speaker 1: not but also occasional coffee stops that didn't fit with
Speaker 1: the stories. Twenty three dollars at Amethys's Cafaye mid afternoon
Speaker 1: weekdays when he'd claimed to be its scyite visits miles
Speaker 1: away at to that two venmo payments labeled only supply
Speaker 1: round THHX sent on account I didn't recognize. I sat
Speaker 1: with this a long time, pouring over each bit of evidence.
Speaker 1: None of it was damning, no smoking gun, but together
Speaker 1: they felt orchestrated. That evening, a calendar invite pop up
Speaker 1: for a last minute project open house the town house again.
Speaker 1: This time Friday, Ben's succeed along with Ariel w in
Speaker 1: bold letters. He came into the kitchen while I was
Speaker 1: staring at the email. He saw my face in grind,
Speaker 1: almost sheepish surprise. Meant to tell you, but Ariel pushed
Speaker 1: through this open house last second. You up for coming.
Speaker 1: You can meet the clients. See how wordly tasteful the
Speaker 1: place actually is. Honest, I think you'll love them a
Speaker 1: measure of my words, trying not to show what I knew.
Speaker 1: Of course, I'd like to meet everyone. You've spent so
Speaker 1: much time. Ben nodded, relief flashing too quickly across his face. Awesome,
Speaker 1: you'll see it's not as crazy as it sounds. Just
Speaker 1: work in wine under He broke off with a lopsided smile.
Speaker 1: That night, he was playful again, making fun of might
Speaker 1: na face, than promising he'd make time for a real
Speaker 1: date after this project wrapped. The version of Ben, who
Speaker 1: leaned over to brush hair from my cheek, who tossed
Speaker 1: howels at me across the dark and roared with laughter,
Speaker 1: was so close, unewly forgot every warning sign. The next evening,
Speaker 1: I got ready like it was the most important night
Speaker 1: out of our month. I put on a dress I
Speaker 1: hadn't worn since last prying Cook's my cousnot to fras
Speaker 1: give myself the talk, Be gracious, be open, notice everything.
Speaker 1: We arrived at the town house just after six. Ben's
Speaker 1: stoweries had primmed me for excessive minimalism, but the space
Speaker 1: was lively, fresh cut flowers, scattered votives, a soundtrack softly
Speaker 1: pussing from a bluetooth speaker, leir and chat. The clients
Speaker 1: were all warmth and banter, grateful for Ben's attention to detail.
Speaker 1: Ariel appeared with a tray of wine glasses, her red
Speaker 1: ecklipped up, wide set blue eyes flicking effortlessly from me
Speaker 1: to Ben and back. She wore confidence like a skin.
Speaker 1: This is just my fiancee, Ben said, voice round and
Speaker 1: prod for the first time in ages. Ariel extended a hand, gripped,
Speaker 1: soft but assertive. Great to meet you. Ben's project obsession
Speaker 1: is legendary at the office. He's making us all step
Speaker 1: up our game. I tried to read her face. Nothing
Speaker 1: in her features gave anything. Always she was practiced, polish,
Speaker 1: a little too smooth. No secret glances, no lingering laughs,
Speaker 1: not even the obvious chemistry you'd expect if they were
Speaker 1: tangled aboutside work. We drank toward the rooms, traded stories
Speaker 1: about bad Paine jobs and impossible to please inspectors. For
Speaker 1: nearly an hour. I let myself float and teather from suspicion.
Speaker 1: Ben held my hand and winked at my dumb jokes,
Speaker 1: sketched imaginary remodels in the dust of the kitchen counter,
Speaker 1: whilch had gain me, argued about TIW colors. I almost
Speaker 1: believed the worst was behind us. On the drive home,
Speaker 1: Ben stayed at Peat, even offering to swing through for
Speaker 1: takeout dessert. At home, he set the table, poured me
Speaker 1: more wine, pulled up a playlist still liked, then steered
Speaker 1: me into a loose, slow dance in the middle of
Speaker 1: our dim lit living room. His lips found my forehead,
Speaker 1: his arm curled round my back, and for a moment
Speaker 1: I let go of every tabulation of doubt. After dinner,
Speaker 1: as I cleaned up, I found myself with the navy
Speaker 1: jacket dangling from my arm. On impulse, I pulled the
Speaker 1: collar up. Mono room intact, eh W. I received. Poked
Speaker 1: out again, Beryl knot this time a Friday I'd been
Speaker 1: at trivia alone. I checked the pocket's hands, moving faster now,
Speaker 1: this time in the lining a bobby pinbrassy curve, and familiar.
Speaker 1: I brought the jacket to the laundry room, pretending to
Speaker 1: check for stains running my hands through the silk lining.
Speaker 1: My chest hurt. My head was spinning so fast I
Speaker 1: almost missed Ben's approach laundry at midnight. Ha, he teas
Speaker 1: from the doorway. I must have jumped, startled out of
Speaker 1: my days yech, just making room for the new stuff.
Speaker 1: I crammed the jacket back onto its hanner and snapped
Speaker 1: the closet door shut. Hot bounding, then stare lingered a question,
Speaker 1: forming but never asked. He shrugged it off. Come to
Speaker 1: bed soon in a minute, I mumbled. After he disappeared.
Speaker 1: A crouched on the laundry room tile phone in my lap,
Speaker 1: I texted Tora, does a W mean anything to you?
Speaker 1: Maybe from Ben's office? She replied instantly, not that I
Speaker 1: know of. Want me to ask round? No, just keep
Speaker 1: an ear out, I wrote, Something's not right. When I
Speaker 1: finally went up, Ben was already asleep, soft snores breaking
Speaker 1: the darkness. I hovered by the door, watching the curve
Speaker 1: of his shoulder, Shocked at the unfamiliarity I now felt
Speaker 1: in the space we made together. I got into bed,
Speaker 1: spooned myself round a pillow, listened to the hum of
Speaker 1: our old fridge, and thought, ye know now, maybe not everything,
Speaker 1: but enough. Still in the morning, sunlight streaming in, Ben
Speaker 1: was back to a tentive coffee, already brewing an invitation
Speaker 1: to the farmer's market. Left from the counter, I found
Speaker 1: mysel doubt. In my own doubt. Maybe I'd misfread things
Speaker 1: after all, Maybe last night's ease was the truth and
Speaker 1: not the exception. But as I stood at the kitchen
Speaker 1: sink rinsing a cup, Bend's phone buzzed. This time the
Speaker 1: name glowed right on the lock screen, Arielle W. The
Speaker 1: preview said, hope you got home safe to day was
Speaker 1: my hands clenched round the mug. I put the phone
Speaker 1: down before I read any more. At the market, then
Speaker 1: moved through the crowds with me, brushing my knuckles with his.
Speaker 1: His phone remained in his pocket, but his gaze was
Speaker 1: a let, darting past me every time if vibrated. I
Speaker 1: kept up the small talk, watching his performance, trying out
Speaker 1: a new theory. Maybe this was simply the life of
Speaker 1: people who needed secret. Maybe the answer of the real
Speaker 1: answer was hidden in plain sight. I smiled for the
Speaker 1: produce vender, testing the flavor of a cherry tomato he
Speaker 1: pressed into my palm, sugary and tart unexpectedly rich Goat
Speaker 1: then asked, I brut up testing for some sign of
Speaker 1: my mood. I llowed myself won on a smell of
Speaker 1: real one just for me. Yet I said it's good.
Speaker 1: But under it all something Amy clicked over, quiet and
Speaker 1: yielding certainty. I would find out the truth, whatever it cost.
Speaker 1: That night, after Ben doz Off, I took the laptop
Speaker 1: into the guest room and searched again for a W
Speaker 1: in his contacts email's calendar. Every instance of aria W
Speaker 1: was tied to meetings, homes, client parties, but the personal
Speaker 1: messages those had to be somewhere else. I thought of
Speaker 1: Amy's old advice. If you think he need more proof,
Speaker 1: the proof is there you're looking. I opened Ben's email drafts,
Speaker 1: the folder he always said he used for saving templets.
Speaker 1: Nested in there half a dozen half finished, notesome to contractors,
Speaker 1: others different. One was titled to ree Thursday and simply read,
Speaker 1: next time, let's try something closer to yours. Still shivering
Speaker 1: from that walk, no recipient, no attachments, I screen capped it,
Speaker 1: saved it to a hidden folder. I looked in cloud's storage,
Speaker 1: one folder, innocuously labeled renders filled with photos of kitchens,
Speaker 1: design plans, and in the middle three gray niece offees,
Speaker 1: Ben and Aerial side by side, one glasses in hand, cozy,
Speaker 1: unmistakably private. Dated during weekends, he'd claimed late sight walks,
Speaker 1: exhaust impressed at the back of my eyes. Still, I
Speaker 1: kept digging each discovery, pounding my heart harder. Finally, around
Speaker 1: three A closed the computer. My head ached my pulseratic
Speaker 1: with adrenaline uncertainty. I didn't sleep. Dawn crawled into the
Speaker 1: corners of the room, turning my exhaustion into something sharp.
Speaker 1: I got up at six, tiptoed downstairs, journaled every piece
Speaker 1: of evidence. Motive means opportunity ar comes razor, the simplest explanation,
Speaker 1: but it was more than logic. I remembered every time
Speaker 1: Ben had withdrawn, all the moments his attention eroted itself,
Speaker 1: the way he'd pushed his phone further out of my reach,
Speaker 1: not hiding texts, but hiding himself. Before he left for work,
Speaker 1: Ben peck my cheek said, big day, wish me luck.
Speaker 1: He carried his blueprints, jacket, keys, his smile back in place.
Speaker 1: I stood in the hall for a minute, unable to move,
Speaker 1: watching the door swing shut. Our house reverberated with silence.
Speaker 1: I ran my finger along the monogram on the navy jacket,
Speaker 1: willing myself to say the name I'd refused to say aloud. Ariel,
Speaker 1: I whispered into the emptiness she'd become. The axis bent
Speaker 1: was spinning around the person I was supposed to ignore,
Speaker 1: but the pattern had clarified. Now delicate a spider, silken
Speaker 1: first light, and as impossible to un see. I texted
Speaker 1: Torr I'm ready to talk, and after a beat, I
Speaker 1: need you to night. By evening, Torres sat with me
Speaker 1: in the kitchen, her presence a tangible shield. I slid
Speaker 1: the journal across the table. I need to know I'm
Speaker 1: not imagining this, she wreathed, silent, brow furrowing. Jess, she
Speaker 1: said softly, when she finished hand covering mine, You're not paranoid.
Speaker 1: This is It's a lot. It lines up. I'm sorry.
Speaker 1: I wept my eyes, relief and grief twisting through me.
Speaker 1: I don't even know what to do. Part of me
Speaker 1: wants to yell, another part wants to burn the house down.
Speaker 1: She squeezed my hand fiercely. You're stronger than you think.
Speaker 1: When you're ready, you should confront him, I'll be round
Speaker 1: whatever you decide. Outside, dust painted long shadows of the walls.
Speaker 1: I waited breathless for Ben to come home, the air
Speaker 1: in the kitchen more brittle than it had ever been.
Speaker 1: The evening dragged, made longer by every sound from the street.
Speaker 1: Ten o'clock came and went, no text, no call. At
Speaker 1: half past eleven, finally his familiar trade up the porch.
Speaker 1: He came in, jacket in hand, ice tied mouf, twisting
Speaker 1: into his late night house smile. Tara stood brushing invisible
Speaker 1: crumbs from her lap. I'm gonna head out. Call me
Speaker 1: O K. I nodded, not trussing my voice. Ben flatter
Speaker 1: her an uncertain grin. Pausing by Tara, he said a
Speaker 1: tone lighter than the room deserved. The door shut. I
Speaker 1: looked at Ben, then down at the navy jacket. He
Speaker 1: just sat on the back of a chair. Long day,
Speaker 1: I managed, teeth clenched. Ben dropped his keys in the bowl,
Speaker 1: then met my eyes for a harpy too long. Yeah,
Speaker 1: that project is never ending. Ariel's pushing for a NOLLA
Speaker 1: completion date. Wants to impress the foam. I traced my
Speaker 1: finger over her neck and the counter top. She seemed sufficient.
Speaker 1: He shot me a look warry and turned to unload
Speaker 1: his bag. She's intense. That's what makes her good, I guess,
Speaker 1: is that all? I asked, quietly, aware of every tremor
Speaker 1: in my voice. Ben hesitated, then forced to laugh. Don't
Speaker 1: be jealous, Jess. Ye know you're the only one whoever
Speaker 1: makes me laugh at breadsheets. Something in me hardened. I
Speaker 1: looked at him, his face a careful mask, his hands
Speaker 1: too busy with busy work. I realized then that my
Speaker 1: questions would never elicit the truth. I would have to
Speaker 1: bring it to him, lay it out, strip every hide
Speaker 1: in claysbear, but not to night to night. I watched him, really,
Speaker 1: looked at the new planes of his face, a deeper
Speaker 1: worry line, a tiredness at the corners of his eyes,
Speaker 1: a closeness, the complicated love. I found, anger, yes, but
Speaker 1: also something simpler, the limit of what I could deny.
Speaker 1: He excused himself upstairs, already escaping into the shower before
Speaker 1: I had time to speak. I sat in the light
Speaker 1: street kitchen, the city humming on the other side of
Speaker 1: thin walls, clutching my mug as if it were a
Speaker 1: life raft. Tomorrow I would find the right words. Tomorrow,
Speaker 1: I would confront the truth head on, whatever it cost.
Speaker 1: For to night, I recorded every detail in my journal,
Speaker 1: evidence memory, a slow untangling of our shared life, thread
Speaker 1: by thread. The kitchen floor was cold beneath my bare
Speaker 1: feet as I sat huddled at the table, the journal
Speaker 1: closed but heavy, the silence around me brutal enough that
Speaker 1: a gentle knock from the Fridgis cycle made me jump.
Speaker 1: The still smell, faintly of Ben's cologne, half faded under
Speaker 1: the medley of detergent and old wood, and the predictable
Speaker 1: sharpness of the uncooked onions he chopped earlier in the week.
Speaker 1: Every muscle in my back eight from hours of attention,
Speaker 1: the catalog of what I'd learned the night before beating
Speaker 1: at the inside of my chest. I barely slept. The
Speaker 1: evidence all lined up, too dense to ignore, the names,
Speaker 1: the receipts, the car. But the worst was the memory
Speaker 1: of Ben's as how shielded they become. However, look lately
Speaker 1: seemed to calculate what he owed me against what he
Speaker 1: was willing to say. The stakes had become unrecognizable in
Speaker 1: their scale. We were negotiating over Messy's schedules or routine exhaustion.
Speaker 1: I was no longer defending the idea that love justeeded
Speaker 1: more air to breathe. I was at war with denial itself.
Speaker 1: Then rose first, treading down the stairs on sock feet.
Speaker 1: I heard him rummage for coffee, emptied the dishwasher with
Speaker 1: careful clinks. When I entered the kitchen, he was speaking
Speaker 1: softly into his phone. Back turned here. I'll see you
Speaker 1: at ten. I know it's a lot aha O K.
Speaker 1: Later he finished, slipped the device into his pocket and
Speaker 1: glanced up at me, already performing his version of normalcy
Speaker 1: with a thin and so and smile. Morning, he said.
Speaker 1: His gaze flecked over my pajamas, my mashed hair, then away.
Speaker 1: I stared at him, wiling my arms not to shake.
Speaker 1: I need to talk to you after work tonight. He blinked, surprised,
Speaker 1: maybe even weary. His mouth pressed into a line about
Speaker 1: what about us? About everything? My voice drummed against the room, louder,
Speaker 1: steadied than I expected. He set his mug down, the
Speaker 1: tremor betraying him. O kay, sure, I'll be here. I
Speaker 1: watched him go through breakfast as if it would anchor him,
Speaker 1: pouring himself cereal, scrawling aimlessly on his foe. When he finished,
Speaker 1: he kissed my temple automatically and left, adjusting his work
Speaker 1: bag with two hands. The door closed behind him. With
Speaker 1: the finality of a verdict. I was alone again, but
Speaker 1: now with a certainty that everything which If before the
Speaker 1: next sunrise I called and sick, I couldn't have faced
Speaker 1: the relentless, pixelated grid assumed faces not in this day. Instead,
Speaker 1: I spent a long morning picking at my food, texting
Speaker 1: tower updates to NET no going back now, and tidying
Speaker 1: the house in nervous increments. I folded his sweaters, Brenolyn
Speaker 1: roller over the couch, swept every errant crumb into the trash.
Speaker 1: Each shot kept my hands busy as my mind hased
Speaker 1: what I'd say, the facts, the bank charges, the jacket,
Speaker 1: the subtle erasures of our life together, the empty hacking boots,
Speaker 1: the half finished wall. By midday, the dread had calcified
Speaker 1: in my chest. I texted my boss to ask for
Speaker 1: a week's emergency leave. She replied with a simple take
Speaker 1: anything you need, We'll cover. A concession made me shudder,
Speaker 1: Tears threatening behind my eyes. I wiped them away, refusing
Speaker 1: to surrender to weakness. Now, I late afternoon, had set
Speaker 1: my phone in front of me on the table. Ben's
Speaker 1: contact up, no new messages from him. I tried calling
Speaker 1: to her again, just to hear a friendly voice, but
Speaker 1: she didn't pick up, probably at work. I held the silence,
Speaker 1: watching squires of spring sun crawl up the living room.
Speaker 1: All the hour slowed, dragging out, like a cruel test
Speaker 1: of resolve. I heard Ben's cord door slam just after seven,
Speaker 1: his keys rattling in the lock. I straightened my shirriff
Speaker 1: and wiped my eyes. There would be no more hiding.
Speaker 1: He stepped inside, blinking as if the light's done. Hey,
Speaker 1: a yell, there was traffic. I picked up takeout. Hope
Speaker 1: you're hungry. He set the paper bags on the counter.
Speaker 1: I didn't move. Jess, what's up? I gestured to the
Speaker 1: dining table. Set please. He hesitated, but the force in
Speaker 1: my stance broke no compromise. He sat fidgeting with his phone,
Speaker 1: setting it face down. When I glare, I took the
Speaker 1: chair opposite the journal in front of me, hands spread
Speaker 1: over the cover. I know about hurriyel, I said, my
Speaker 1: voice steady, sharper than I felt I know about the
Speaker 1: text and the meetings at the baron not the town house.
Speaker 1: I know how long you've been seeing her, the charges,
Speaker 1: the jacket, all of it. Don't I please, just don't.
Speaker 1: His eyes widened, the mask dropping for a ragged moment,
Speaker 1: he looked down, rubbed his hand over his mouth, searching
Speaker 1: for a way out. But yes, it's naught in, I
Speaker 1: cut him off, force rising. I ever seat screenshots if
Speaker 1: you want to see them, or will you honor me
Speaker 1: just for once by telling me straight? He fumbled, looking defeated.
Speaker 1: We're just friends. We had to keep meeting. The project
Speaker 1: was don't I said, don't make it worse. If you
Speaker 1: cared about me at all, you'd give me the truth.
Speaker 1: Now you owe me that. Something surrendered in his face.
Speaker 1: He stared at the pattern in the wood grain, hands braced,
Speaker 1: mouth working, the faint pulse at his throat visible. I'm sorry,
Speaker 1: he choked. I'm so fucking sorry. It started after that
Speaker 1: first sight meeting. I didn't I never planned it. I
Speaker 1: swear she was just easy to talk to. It felt
Speaker 1: lighter with her At first. I convinced myself it was
Speaker 1: innocent work friends. But then one night we've he broke off,
Speaker 1: shaking his head. How long my throat was dry at
Speaker 1: the words graping out? He winced ten months, maybe more.
Speaker 1: I stopped counting. Did you sleep with her? I needed
Speaker 1: the words sharp, cruel, undeniable. He covered his mouth, nodded once,
Speaker 1: a shame tearful. Twice he whispered, it's not what you think.
Speaker 1: I thought I could manage it, keep it all separate.
Speaker 1: But it's not. She's not you, No one is. I thought.
Speaker 1: I really thought you'd never find out. His voice broke.
Speaker 1: I was lost. I wanted to feel alive again, work
Speaker 1: the house US. I felt like I was screwing everything up,
Speaker 1: and I don't know why I did it, Jess, I
Speaker 1: wish I could take it back. I pressed both hands
Speaker 1: to the journal, every instinct vibrating between betrayal and a
Speaker 1: sickening relief at finally having the truth out in the air.
Speaker 1: He lied every day, he built a world. I had
Speaker 1: no place, and you erased me to have this other life.
Speaker 1: Did you ever feel bad? He met my eyes then, finally,
Speaker 1: and I saw how exhausted he was, how hollow, how small.
Speaker 1: Every day, he said, voice shaking, But once you start,
Speaker 1: as easier to keep lying than to start telling the truth.
Speaker 1: I couldn't bear to lose you. I still can't, but
Speaker 1: I did all this anyway. The room was silent except
Speaker 1: for his jagged breathing. I realize, in a dry bolt
Speaker 1: of clarity that I would never get a satisfying explanation.
Speaker 1: There wasn't one to be given. Do you want to
Speaker 1: stay with me? I asked, the words nearly inaudible. He
Speaker 1: slumped face in his hands, shoulders convulsing. I don't know,
Speaker 1: he sobbed. I don't think I deserved to. I don't
Speaker 1: even know who I am any more. That was at
Speaker 1: the breaking point. I stood. I need you to leave
Speaker 1: the bedroom to night. I need space. I can't even
Speaker 1: look at you right now. He nodded, defeated, tear streaking
Speaker 1: his cheeks, hands bald into desperate fists on the table.
Speaker 1: I went upstairs, packed a duffel with cl ignoring the
Speaker 1: tremor in my hands. He didn't follow downstairs. He sat
Speaker 1: at the table, unmoving, shoulders hunched on the counter. His
Speaker 1: phone buzzed again, Ariell's name lighting up the screen. He
Speaker 1: reached for it, paused, and let it go dark. I
Speaker 1: didn't watch him long. Instead, I texted Tara I am
Speaker 1: coming over and grabbed my bag. The air outside was
Speaker 1: stingingly cold. As I locked the door behind me, I
Speaker 1: heard the echo of bend quite weeping through the thin wood,
Speaker 1: muffled and ragged. The night sky was indifferent, scattered with
Speaker 1: sharp pin points of light. I walked my car in
Speaker 1: a daze, boot crunching on gravel, duffel banging awkwardly against
Speaker 1: my thigh. The world didn't change to mark what had happened.
Speaker 1: To just kept breathing, ordinary as ever. At Torres, she
Speaker 1: met me at the door in sweapons and a faded
Speaker 1: college T shirt, arms wide. I stepped inside, dropped the bag,
Speaker 1: and let her hold me. I didn't cry, not yet.
Speaker 1: I just stood in her warmth as my body vibrated
Speaker 1: with exhaustion and aftershock. Once I showered and borrowed an
Speaker 1: old pair of her pajamas, I sat on her couch,
Speaker 1: phone silent beside me. I wrote out a brief female
Speaker 1: requesting the next week off family emergency. I'll check him
Speaker 1: when I can. Terror made me a muck of peppermint tea.
Speaker 1: I curled my hands around the warmth, letting my guard
Speaker 1: down by increments tears, threatening, but still downed up behind shock.
Speaker 1: Ben texted first to long apology, then a desperate string
Speaker 1: of please, then only silence. I turned the phone over,
Speaker 1: screened down. I messaged my parents canceled dinner with Ben's family,
Speaker 1: noting only that something has come up. My mom called, voiced,
Speaker 1: tight with surprised, but thick with comfort. I did not elaborate.
Speaker 1: At some point, I got up and brushed my teeth hard,
Speaker 1: hammering all the while, then slept on our living room couch,
Speaker 1: or so I imagined. I refused to check my phone
Speaker 1: the house I had spent years making my own ones
Speaker 1: for now forbidden territory. I let myself not care who
Speaker 1: helds way inside it. Tourrer and I agreed not to
Speaker 1: announce anything on social media. Not yet. We let the
Speaker 1: silence hold sacred and temporary. That night, I lay awake
Speaker 1: in her guest bed, a cityscape framed by cheap lines,
Speaker 1: my body floating between grief and the strange kind of
Speaker 1: boy and purpose. The following morning, the ache didn't fanish,
Speaker 1: it settle. My stomach rolled at the thought of coffee,
Speaker 1: hot twisted, and my chest like lawn drew run dry.
Speaker 1: I told her I'd go for a walk while she
Speaker 1: headed into her morning meetings. The urge to move, to
Speaker 1: shake off the night was overwhelming. I pulled the sweatshirt
Speaker 1: over my rumpled pajamas, laced my shoes, and stepped out
Speaker 1: into the city, bags long heavy at my side. The
Speaker 1: Denver sky was crystal blue, merciless. I walked aimlessly toward
Speaker 1: the city trail, the path that had always been ours, beat,
Speaker 1: crunching over scattered gravel, the hum of traffic distant and
Speaker 1: just out of reach. I paused at a bench one
Speaker 1: we'd sat on together so many months ago, after a
Speaker 1: grocery run that turned into a debate about which dog
Speaker 1: was the upbliss lash cutest in a parade of passers by.
Speaker 1: I ran my palm over the weather worn wood. Now
Speaker 1: surprised at the newness of its emptiness. I pulled out
Speaker 1: my phone, intending to check the time. There at the
Speaker 1: top flash Ben's name a new message, just one line.
Speaker 1: I'm sorry for everything you deserve better. The simplicity cut
Speaker 1: through everything, No context, no plea, no denial, no game.
Speaker 1: I stared at the message until the cold stun, my
Speaker 1: knuckles numb. Then slowly, deliberately I opened north thread and
Speaker 1: deleted the conversation. The chair disappeared, the screen emptying out,
Speaker 1: as if the whole narrative had been wiped away. I
Speaker 1: closed my eyes, steadying my breath, letting the world hash
Speaker 1: around me a gadow what was left of myself, stood
Speaker 1: and started walking again. The city lights along the trail
Speaker 1: blinked on as dusk fell, gold and warm against the
Speaker 1: approaching chill. For the first time in months, I felt
Speaker 1: the full ake of the loss. Grief, yes, but also
Speaker 1: a shiver of something like hope. As I turned back
Speaker 1: toward Tara's apartment, hands shoved deep in my pockets, I
Speaker 1: let the outline of Ben's absence settle into the distance
Speaker 1: behind me. Some things, once named could never be forgotten,
Speaker 1: but neither did they need to be carried forever. I
Speaker 1: forced myself to keep moving, each step along the trailer,
Speaker 1: refusal to drift back into that stagnant herod, and I
Speaker 1: to keep myself from circling. I focused on patterns, the
Speaker 1: blinking crosswalks reflecting in the puddles, the gritty resistance of
Speaker 1: my seekers on the concrete, the barely their chill, fretting
Speaker 1: up my arms. I must have walked two miles, just
Speaker 1: letting my mind float alternately empty and then riders with
Speaker 1: every jagged edge of humiliation, fury, and quietly, beneath it all,
Speaker 1: a strange, wordless relief. I did not dare name. My
Speaker 1: phone rang name, lighting up this time. I considered ignoring it,
Speaker 1: too raw, too spent for any more talking, but picked up,
Speaker 1: pressing it tight to my ear. Hey, she said, gently,
Speaker 1: just checking in. Want some company? Or should I pick
Speaker 1: up pastries for tomorrow and leavey be? I can't go
Speaker 1: back yet, I said, voice husky. I just need to
Speaker 1: move and send a message. He's sorry, jest sorry, I
Speaker 1: could hear her suppress a sigh on the other end,
Speaker 1: of course, he is, doesn't matter right now. Okay, just breathe.
Speaker 1: I'll see you when you're ready. We hung up. I
Speaker 1: slipped the phone back in my pocket, my pulse recolating
Speaker 1: by slow degrees, the city's evening buzz rising up to
Speaker 1: join me, small joys, the scent of street waffles, dogs
Speaker 1: yupping across into sections, the shriek of luft somewhere had
Speaker 1: filtered in. I could have been any one out here,
Speaker 1: one among thousands, rebuilding the shape of their life from
Speaker 1: uneven fragments. It was a comfort in the strangest way.
Speaker 1: As twilight deepened, I was swept along in the press
Speaker 1: of commuters and joggers, the world moving on, indifferent to
Speaker 1: the collapse inside my chest, with no destination. I turned
Speaker 1: back through the neighborhoods, ducking my head as porch lights
Speaker 1: flickered on. For a brief, perverse moment, I wondered if
Speaker 1: Ben was at home right now, or if he'd fled
Speaker 1: somewhere else Ariel's maybe, or just lost behind a closed
Speaker 1: car door with his mistakes. The thought stopped me, breath hitching. Anger,
Speaker 1: sharp and sudden overtook the exhaustion, not just at Ben,
Speaker 1: but at myself, forgiving so much patience, for explaining away
Speaker 1: every slight shift that should ascaided danger, for trusting. I
Speaker 1: took a seat on the low wall outside a shuttered bakery,
Speaker 1: stared in my bag beside me, I pressed the heel
Speaker 1: of my hand into my brow. It wasn't just about
Speaker 1: Ben an Arielle, or even about what had been lost.
Speaker 1: It was the absolute finality of the lyre thing, so
Speaker 1: thorough that it changed to past as surely as it
Speaker 1: ended the future. I was furious at the waist, the convolution,
Speaker 1: the endless nights, wasted, waiting, the instinct snuffed up by hope.
Speaker 1: I didn't cry, not really. My eyes burned, my jaw set,
Speaker 1: but the tears wouldn't come. It was a strange, dryache, quiet,
Speaker 1: the body's wisdom that nothing further would change if I
Speaker 1: shattered here under a street light with strangers walking by,
Speaker 1: what remained was dogged grimace, a heavy, almost calm acceptance.
Speaker 1: Somewhere across the block, I noticed the shadow approaching, a
Speaker 1: figure walking with careful purpose, familiar in height and gait.
Speaker 1: For half a second, I froze, wandering, then realized it
Speaker 1: was just a passing neighbor, a young woman in headphones,
Speaker 1: bundled against the chill. I let out a shaky breath
Speaker 1: and pushed myself up, returning to the flow of traffic,
Speaker 1: clutching my phone in a clamy fist. Ac At Tower's apartment,
Speaker 1: I found her in the kitchen, frying two eggs the
Speaker 1: radio plane. Quietly. She looked up, offered a chink nod
Speaker 1: of welcome without comment. I joined her, sitting on the
Speaker 1: battered still tracing old knife marks in the counter. You know,
Speaker 1: she said, after a while, people always talk about the
Speaker 1: part after the moving on and new beginnings. No one
Speaker 1: ever talks about how much hate you can feel for
Speaker 1: someone and still remember to love the pots that used
Speaker 1: to be there. I swallowed her words a balm and
Speaker 1: a blow. I wish I could just fold it all
Speaker 1: up close, it like a file. But I keep thinking,
Speaker 1: what did I miss? Did I ever actually know him? Tora?
Speaker 1: She shook her head, turning the eggs with ruthless efficiency.
Speaker 1: He knew the part he gave you, not your fault
Speaker 1: if he silized himself up for some one else. We
Speaker 1: ate quietly, salt and yelk and bread, ordinary food, but nourishing.
Speaker 1: Tara pressed a mug of tea into my hands. Don't
Speaker 1: answer him until you're damn well ready, she said, You
Speaker 1: get to decide what comes next. Nod him as I sipped.
Speaker 1: I scold slowly tentatively through my in books, half fearful
Speaker 1: of what might pop up. Among the routine reminders and
Speaker 1: our read newsletters. I spotted an unread message from Ben's mother,
Speaker 1: a rare direct email, looking forward to dinner this week
Speaker 1: in Safe Travels for Ben. I stared at the line,
Speaker 1: at the conspicuous optimism in it, the assumption that our
Speaker 1: wheel would keep toning a wave of resentment hit me
Speaker 1: at the idea of carrying Ben's secret for any one
Speaker 1: else's sake. Now, But I realized my exhaustion wasn't just
Speaker 1: with Ben. It was with a pretense, with the habit
Speaker 1: of holding everything together, presenting a seamless faced parents of friends, colleagues.
Speaker 1: I didn't want to lae for him. One moment longer.
Speaker 1: When Tara asked quietly if she should help me cry
Speaker 1: oft the polite consolation, I shook my head. I'll do it.
Speaker 1: I typed out a short response, we need to postpone
Speaker 1: personal emergency, and sent it off, closing the device firmly.
Speaker 1: When I was done. After dinner, Tar retreated to a
Speaker 1: movie in her room, leaving me the living room in
Speaker 1: a blanket, night press close outside the windows, cities sounds
Speaker 1: dulled by distance, and stuck at walls. I lay listening
Speaker 1: to the hum of the fridge, half watching head lights
Speaker 1: down across the ceiling. That was when the escalasion hit me,
Speaker 1: not as fury, but as consequence. The house wasn't just
Speaker 1: a symbol or a backdrop anymore. It was the arena
Speaker 1: of our undoing. The half painted kitchen, the shared passwords,
Speaker 1: the wedding invitations stacked in a drawer, even my two
Speaker 1: brush beside us in the Bathimol now took on a
Speaker 1: new charge, small daily detonations I'd have to face head on.
Speaker 1: There would be dividing of things, conversations about counceling plans,
Speaker 1: unraveling the interlaced habits of years, not just for me
Speaker 1: and Ben, but for our friends, our families, the world
Speaker 1: we built together. It hit me finally that true aftermath
Speaker 1: is impossibly ordinary. There are calls to make accounts, to entangle,
Speaker 1: but what weighed heavyest was the knowledge every friend group
Speaker 1: get together, every long table at some one's backyard barbecue,
Speaker 1: would bear the scar People would wonder who to invite,
Speaker 1: who had the rights to mutual haunts, who got to
Speaker 1: keep wich friends. I thought about texting Amy, about warning
Speaker 1: her what was coming, then decided to wait for the
Speaker 1: moment I wanted to hold what was left of my
Speaker 1: peace alone. My phone buzzed again, Ben's name once more.
Speaker 1: I almost blocked him, then scrolled briefly through the unread messages.
Speaker 1: A couple quick apologies, assurances that he was on the couch,
Speaker 1: offers to talk whenever I was ready. Then nothing, No
Speaker 1: more explanations, no wild outburst, no blame, just silence. For
Speaker 1: several hours, it felt more honest than anything he'd given
Speaker 1: me in months. The weekend passed in a feverish static case.
Speaker 1: I passed of Taro's comfort food breakfast, scrolled news headlines
Speaker 1: with a distractive thumb, rebuffed two well meaning of freach
Speaker 1: attempts from mutual friends, then remained silent. The house across
Speaker 1: town a mental black hole of questions I refused to
Speaker 1: tumble into. On Sunday, I steeled myself for one last step.
Speaker 1: I drove by our block, slowly, almost ashamed of needing
Speaker 1: to witness the shape of my own absence. A porch
Speaker 1: light closed at Ben saidittual seven p MP. Setting through
Speaker 1: the living room window, I saw only the soft elimination
Speaker 1: of the test lamp. Nothing else, no frontic pacing, no figures.
Speaker 1: I didn't park. I just circled the block, grief carved
Speaker 1: into each real rotation. That night, I sat with Tarro
Speaker 1: on her tiny balcony, mug of tea nestled in both hands,
Speaker 1: the wind shop on my cheeks. You tell him what
Speaker 1: to do or are you letting him the side? She asked,
Speaker 1: glancing sideways. Serious, I consider this I want him gone
Speaker 1: before I come back. His stuff at least I can't.
Speaker 1: I hesitate it, summoning the words. I can't look at
Speaker 1: him and not see all of it. He needs to leave.
Speaker 1: She checked me with her eyes. You can lock the
Speaker 1: doors if you want. You know, you don't owe him
Speaker 1: another explanation. Set your boundary, and don't pudge. It was
Speaker 1: a small thing, but her confidence let me backbone. I'll
Speaker 1: tell him tomorrow. Later, when I finally lay down to sleep,
Speaker 1: the decision played itself out in my head, painful but fixed.
Speaker 1: Tomorrow I would return to my own house and reclaim
Speaker 1: what was mine on my own terms. I ared him
Speaker 1: nothing more. Monday hit wi, cloudless sun, a betrayal of
Speaker 1: its own. I sipped coffee, fortified by Tar's hand on
Speaker 1: my shoulder, and texted Ben, I will be home at noon.
Speaker 1: Please be gone and take your things. We will speak
Speaker 1: only about logistics. Later, three dots appeared, habard vanished, then
Speaker 1: a reply understood. I'm sorry, Jess, I'll respect your wishes.
Speaker 1: I'll be out by eleven keys on the counter. I
Speaker 1: stared at the screen until the words blurred. Heap prickly
Speaker 1: my eyelids, but I did not cry. Instead, I gathered
Speaker 1: my things, a duffel, a charger, a spare set of geys,
Speaker 1: nothing sentimental. Taro drove me, making quite jokes about Denver's potholes,
Speaker 1: which I half heard. The house was quiet when we arrived,
Speaker 1: no car outside, no sign of Ben's presence inside, cool air,
Speaker 1: and the hush of vacancy. I stood in the entry,
Speaker 1: back at my feet and took stock. The space was neat,
Speaker 1: emptied of his shes and jackets, the muck collection halved,
Speaker 1: one drawer in the bathroom empty, our bed strucked to sheets.
Speaker 1: What lingered was not Ben's presence, but the hall, all
Speaker 1: left by his absence. The jacket with a W was gone,
Speaker 1: so were the coats that trail descent. The charger always
Speaker 1: borrowed his favorite books. There was a single note, not
Speaker 1: even signed to just Key's garage clicker. I'm sorry. I
Speaker 1: pressed my palms to the counter, letting my breat regulate.
Speaker 1: The light filtered through our kitchen window, illuminating dust motes
Speaker 1: and flex of sawdust left from abandoned projects. I let
Speaker 1: myself stand there for a long moment, the house for
Speaker 1: shaping itself around the new coordinates. Here was the scar yes,
Speaker 1: but also the open, empty possibility of what might come next.
Speaker 1: I spent the afternoon collecting what was mine, working quietly,
Speaker 1: closed books, photos, art supplies, the mechanics suit me. Hech
Speaker 1: faded to background noise in the closet, his side empty. Now,
Speaker 1: I folded my own jacket and felt the curious combination
Speaker 1: of sorrow and freedom. I texted Tara as the sun
Speaker 1: began to drop. It's done, He's really gone. There were
Speaker 1: emails to send, the promise of friends, to face, practicalities,
Speaker 1: to orchestrate. But in the house now, for this moment,
Speaker 1: I let no old memory command me. I sat in
Speaker 1: the new quiet, perfectly still. The only movement the slow
Speaker 1: rise and fall of my test as I breed. As
Speaker 1: dusk settled in the city's gold lights began to glow,
Speaker 1: I took one last walk through the room's kitchen, living bedroom,
Speaker 1: touching a walls, moving a pillow, savoring the sharp edges
Speaker 1: of grief, and beginning at the front door, a hesitated
Speaker 1: hand on the knob, Feeling the cool brass, I pulled
Speaker 1: the door shut behind me, the soft click both of
Speaker 1: benediction and a ver well. Stepping out into the cooling air,
Speaker 1: I walked to the street without looking back, the city
Speaker 1: alive around me. Each stepped forward, proof that while the
Speaker 1: wound remained, so did my right to walk away from
Speaker 1: everything that would no longer be built.